


A thin, dangerous line

by percyinpanties



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: M/M, Persephone's Myth AU, royal au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9556832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/percyinpanties/pseuds/percyinpanties
Summary: Will runs away only to find himself in a barren land with a King that's much more than his reputation.





	

In the light of the fire, the prince looks angelic. His tan skin glows otherworldly and hair frames his face like a halo. The golden circlet sitting atop the young man’s curls glints in the warm light of the room.

The Ghost King feels absolutely enchanted.

It’s not just the prince’s beauty that lures him in, or his warm, melodic voice. It has only been a few hours since his guards have brought the young man from the forest and yet, Nico feels as if he has known the prince for years. He doubts his father, if he was still alive, would approve of such infatuation.

Why the prince had been wandering alone along the borders of the Ghost King’s realm, however, was still a mystery. The woods were cold, especially now that it was winter, and the wild of Nico’s realm unforgiving. Not a place for a princeling, surely.

“I cannot stay for longer.”  The prince says sadly but makes no move to get up or away. “My father will be looking for me.”

The prince’s pose seems relaxed and, in a way, he looks as if he belongs there. Nico shakes the thought away, the very notion of belonging in a place like this is ridiculous.

Another glance at the young man and it strikes Nico that the reason the other is not moving is because he does not wish to leave. Or maybe not so soon. Nico knew from the start he could not  _keep_ the prince here, but a strange flicker of hope licks at his heart.

Surely, the  _Ghost King_  had the power, the influence and means to trap a princeling in his country. If Nico were to be this selfish however, both their people were bound to be the ones suffering the consequences.

The prince’s family was influential, their kingdom vast, rich and powerful. They would stop at nothing if they thought Nico had imprisoned their child.

“It is cold outside.” Nico reminds quietly and turns his gaze away from the young man.

It isn’t a lie, although it may be an excuse.

The  _Ghost King_  has gotten his name from the unforgiving, icy lands of his kingdom that too easily became a death trap for unknowing travellers and adventurers. His castle too far from the borders, where the world would brighten again and become more welcoming to its inhabitants. The prince knew nothing of the horrors that lurked in the dark.

A sad place, really, although Nico felt right at home in his barren land.

“Stay for the night. In the morning, I will gladly escort you to my border.” He suggests after a moment of silence passes.

The prince’s safe return could wait for one night, could it not? As much as Nico tried to convince himself, he knew he was walking a thin, dangerous line.

“My fires will keep you warm and my servants will have a room prepared for you.”

Nico does not mention food, does not mention the fruit of his garden - the only beautifully alive thing at home in his realm. Was it tempting fate not to tell the prince of the curse that trapped unwilling souls here? Or was it keeping the prince from making this decision himself?

Of all the myths around his person and his country, this was the one Nico was least willing to share.

Across from him, the prince smiles, slow and warm, before he nods.

“I would be honoured to be your guest tonight.”

The room is quickly prepared.

Nico has chosen a space high up in one of the towers that overlooks the gardens.   
It’s warmer there, easier to guard and offers the one nice view in the trist landscape of Nico’s kingdom. Nowhere else will one find flowers and fruit this colourful and inviting.

He accompanies the prince through the hallways and up the stairs. Nico’s long coat drags behind him up the stairs, his gloved hands stay clasped behind his back, out of reach where they cannot do harm.

Their conversation stays light - court practices, hunting, neighbouring countries they have visited - until they reach the door to the room Nico has had prepared. The prince turns to him, instead of opening the door, with a strange smile on his lips.

“You’re nothing like the stories make it out to be.” He says and Nico blinks. The -  _what?_ Where is this coming from now?

A slender hands comes to rest gingerly half on his chest and shoulder. Innocent blue eyes meet his, and Nico isn’t sure whether he should step closer or flee.

A thin,  _dangerous_  line.

“My father and the King would like me to think you’re a monster.” He continues on, quieter now. Nico doesn’t understand why the prince tells him this – Nico has no doubt about the prince’s father’s and grandfather’s hatred of him – especially after an evening of nothing but polite conversation.   
“But I can’t find even a grain of evil in you.”

“Maybe…” Nico begins. His voice sounds deeper than he means it to be, catches around the edges. The prince has caught him off guard and it shows.   
“Maybe you haven’t looked deep enough.”

He knows of _nothing_ Nico has done, none of the good, none of the bad, none of the unspeakable. It is better this way, he does like talking about the past.

A shadow crosses over the prince’s face, but it’s gone as fast as it comes.

Nico could never have fathomed that, instead of a reply, the prince would crowd into his space. This is where the young man should turn around, scoff and leave.

Nico goes perfectly still when the prince’s hand, previously on his shoulder, settles on his neck.

This time, Nico knows he should run.

Instead, he allows the prince to press their lips together.

Nico doesn’t understand what the prince hopes to achieve with this, but as his eyes fall closed, he finds he doesn’t care. His lips move before Nico tells them to, and his hand settles on the prince’s side on its own accord.

This is wrong. This is what gets him hurt – what makes him hurt other people.

When was the last time he has shown affection? – When was the last time it has been shown to him?

A thin, dangerous line, and Nico has fallen off the wrong side.

 

 

A kiss had not been on Will’s agenda when he had snuck out of his grandfather’s castle this morninh before dawn.

The young prince had wished to get away from the court, nothing more, if only for a little while. He could not stand being locked up in this shiny cage for a day longer, could not stand feeling like a pretty bird on display anymore.

Will hated the palace, everything it stood for.

For the most part, Will was sure the feeling was mutual.

It had been luck only that allowed him to leave his room before sunrise. In the quiet of night, Will had snuck to the stables, a miracle none of the servants had spotted him on the way there, saddled his favourite horse, and ridden out of the palace as fast as the stallion would carry him.

When Will had passed the walls of the capital and the countryside spread out on either side of him, he had not planned to land in a cold king’s arms. The first rays of sunshine broke over the mountains in the distance and gave the valley Will rode through a golden glow.

Will had no direction in mind. He would go where his horse might take him, as long as it was away from the castle, from his father and his grandfather, the king.

The path snaked its way north, further and further, until the world got colder and darker. Will must have crossed the border to the kingdom that lay to the north of his grandfather’s.

The change was shocking.

The trees were not dead, but bare and deformed like creatures from a nightmare. The sky above was dark, although Will was sure it still must be early in the morning. Will felt surrounded by dancing shadows, thought he’d heard whispers between the trees that could not be blamed on wind rustling leaves.

Will realised he had lost sight of the path. His horse was jumpy, scared, more so than an animal trained this way should be. Its uneasiness spread over to Will slowly but surely.

He’d heard the stories. The king who ruled over this realm was a pale, ghostly apparition with no love in his heart. It was his hatred that had poisoned the lands. He lived alone, with only the dead for company.

Seeing the world around him, Will felt inclined to believe the tales. It was no wonder a man who called this kingdom his own earned the name  _Ghost King_.

It had been luck when guards found Will, demounted from his horse as to not be thrown off by the spooked animal, wandering through the forest.   
They’d been kind and helpful, despite not speaking a single word. Their sunken faces and empty eyes had made Will expect a different treatment, but nothing but they were nothing on the inside like their outside might suggest.

Unlike Will, they seemed to navigate the forest easily, guiding him back to a path.

A chill sunk into Will’s bones, colder and less forgiving the deeper he got into the kingdom. Will wondered for a moment if his father and grandfather had noted his absence yet, if they were looking for him or chalked his disappearance up as a lucky twist of fate. Sometimes he believed they’d be happy to be rid of him – be rid of another contester to the throne – and one the people of their realm loved much more than the old King at their head.

They reach the castle as night fell. It has been dark before, but Will can tell the light is fading more now and despite the uneasiness in his guts of being brought before the  _Ghost King_ , Will is glad to be here rather than lost in those woods.

Against any and all expectations, the king is a young man. Will doubts the king was much older than him, in fact, although there is something about those eyes….   
Dark hair frames a pale face, and unlike the guard’s faces, the King’s features are not sunken into his skull.  
The man is  _handsome_ , graceful like a panther surrounding his prey as he steps down from his raised throne and walks toward Will to greet him.

This man is _nothing_ like the myths made him out to be.

Over the course of the night, Will feels more and more taken by him, fascinated by his otherworldly beauty and poise, his kindness and wisdom shining through every word. The instant initial attraction deepens to something Will doesn’t quite understand.

This is not a man who has held no love in his heart, but a man who’d held too much.

At the end of the night, a small voice at the back of Will’s head whispers that this man may be a way out. Before, trading one castle for another had not seemed like an option to Will, no matter how often his father had proposed another marriage partner to Will.

The  _Ghost King,_ however, is different.

Will doubts he’d be caged here, although the man himself seems to be. How lonely it must be…

It is not really a choice as much as acting on instinct when Will crowds into the man’s space and kisses him as they stand in the hall outside the room.   
Will has only ever kissed once before, but that had been long ago and soon forgotten under his father’s punishment for hanging around the servant boys.

It takes Will some coercion – cupping the King’s face, running his thumbs over the man’s cheeks, humming quietly against his lips – before the kiss is finally reciprocated. A cold hand settles on Will’s side, and he shivers from both the touch and the temperature.

Without giving himself time to think it through, Will grabs the King by his coat and pulls him into the room.

 

 

 

Nico’s coat hits the floor the second the door falls shut behind them. Determined hands run down his dress shirt, too thin to shield Nico’s skin from the warmth of the prince’s palms. His body is humming, his mind spins – he should be stopping this but it has already spiralled way beyond his control. He can’t remember the last time he’s been touched like this, touched at all.

Their lips move together naturally, they fit like they were always meant to be this way. It feels desperate, laden with emotions that Nico doesn’t understand. This is more than heated kisses, but he does not understand the meaning it carries yet.

Teeth scrape the sensitive skin of his bottom lip and a moan rises in Nico’s throat. The prince swallows the sound with their next kiss. Buttons are slid out of their holdings, cool air hits Nico’s collar, and then his chest. He knows he is being undressed, and that he shouldn’t allow this. Nico cannot, will not –

“Your highness.” It comes like a purr next to Nico’s ear. Lips brush against his jaw, the lobe of his ear. A shiver runs all the way down his spine. “I think I need some help getting out of this jacket.”

He could – he should – say no. Instead, when the prince slowly pulls away from Nico, his fingers find the laces that keep the prince’s dress-coat together. Without thinking he begins undoing them, pulling them free from the holes and exposing more and more of the thin shirt underneath.

He runs his hands under the jacket and helps to ease it over the prince’s head. Nico finds it hard to believe the beauty in front of his eyes. Words would never do him justice, Nico is sure of it, but he is inclined to describe him as angelic nonetheless.

The shirt hangs loose on the prince’s shoulders and tan skin shines through the thin fabric. For a moment, Nico gets lost just looking, then his hands reach out and he traces his fingers over the same lines his eyes had followed.

The prince steps into Nico’s space again, hot lips slide wetly against his neck, and Nico doesn’t understand how he gotten himself into this situation.

It’s been  _so long_  since he accepted any kind of tenderness. Nico does not care for the prince’s reasons, not anymore, he lets his internal conflict go and accepts this as whatever it may turn out to be.

The prince’s hands push Nico’s shirt off his shoulders and it slides down his arms slowly before joining Nico’s coat on the floor. It leaves his chest and arms bare, leaves nothing to hide the old scars torn into his skin.

They’ve been there for years but Nico has never stopped aching because of them.

The prince’s fingers trace the ones on Nico’s upper arm, mimicking the way the monster’s claws had ripped through Nico’s skin. It’s not intentional, Nico is sure of it, and the touch is tender enough that it does not make Nico feel phantoms of the old pain.

The prince has no way of knowing about the demons Nico has faced, he does not seem to care.

A wry smile plays on Nico’s lips when he pushes the hands off by stepping closer and claiming the young man’s mouth once more. They fall to Nico waist instead, tracing the lines of muscle and bone showing through the skin.

The prince’s thin shirt follows Nico’s to the floor, and soon they’re fully pressed together  – Nico’s cool skin warmed by the prince’s touch, while every touch of his own leaves goosebumps in its wake.

When the prince’s hips roll against Nico’s, slow and deliciously teasing, he wonders whether it’s intention or instinct that made him move.

Nico traces his kisses from the prince’s lips to his jaw. A scathing passion burns low in his gut and Nico can feel it consume him. Unless the prince told him to, Nico had no hope for stopping himself now.

He hold the other by his hips, thumbs running along the waistband of the princess trousers, lips moving from jaw to neck where he bites down none to gently.

A noise half gasp half moan echoes through the room and Nico pulls the prince’s groin flush to his before rolling his hips against him. The noise comes again, this time sounding a little choked. Nico grins against the prince’s skin, wondering if he knew what he’d signed up for when he tugged Nico into this room.

“You need to tell me,” Nico rasps against flushed skin. “When I go too far.”

He vaguely feels the prince nod before he moves his hands to the front of the young man’s trousers and undoes them swiftly. They slide down narrow hips and pool around the prince’s feet. When he peels himself away from Nico, he is left in nothing but his breeches. They don’t hide much from Nico’s curious eyes.

He steps away from Nico slowly, and Nico thinks that’s it - he has pushed too fast too far - but the prince only sits down on the bed, scoots to its middle and beckons Nico to follow.

In a very unkingly manner, Nico discards his trousers before he follows onto the soft covers. It’s strangely intimate like this, but Nico doesn’t allow the thought to get to him.

The prince pulls Nico in, face cupped in his hands, and kisses him again. It’s no less passionate than before, but it feels softer now.

Even so, Nico can’t stop his hands from wandering, all the little places that he knows must be sensitive and elicit some reaction.

Soon enough, the prince is making small sounds against Nico’s lips - mewls and moans and whines - and he’s chasing them with more kisses like an addict in search for a fix.

There is no oil around, so when the prince pushes Nico back and straddles his waist, Nico quickly bans all thought of having him like this from his mind. He is not about to hurt the prince just because he can’t control himself.

Hands explore Nico’s skin and lips keep finding his own. He could easily lose himself in this - who cared what morning would bring?

Their hips are moving together, Nico feels the rising pleasure friction brings, but it’s not enough. His hands find the prince’s breeches and tug at them lightly. Nico receives a hum in reply and takes that as permission to pull them down and kick his own off on the way.

Both naked now, the feeling of skin against skin sends thrills down his spine - he can hardly remember the last time he’s been this close to another living being.

The prince pushes himself up, one hand on either side of Nico’s head, and looks at him with a dazed smile.

“You are stunning.” The prince whispers breathlessly and trails a hand down Nico’s chest and abdomen.

“Your highness.” He adds after a second and much to Nico’s surprise, winks at him.

For a second, Nico is tempted to offer his name - he can’t remember the last time someone called him by his name, not  _Ghost King_ , my lord, your highness…

Nico opens his mouth to reply, but the prince’s hand has trailed all the way down to Nico’s groin where his erection curved up against his stomach. A finger trails from the weeping tip downward and Nico gasps inaudibly.

The prince is shy in his touches now, maybe this is novel to him. Nico doesn’t push it, doesn’t press for more, allows the young man to explore while Nico’s breath hitches and moans are drawn out of his throat.

When he eventually wraps a tentative hand around Nico’s cock though, Nico isn’t able to stop his hips from bucking into the warm hand. His own wraps around the prince’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss while the other finds the prince’s cock next to his own. Careful strokes soon grow bolder and kissing turns into moaning and huffing into each other’s mouths.

Next time, Nico begin to think, then reprimanded himself. There will not be a  _next time._

The thighs straddling his waist are shaking, Nico can feel tensing in the prince’s abdominal muscles. He must be close, then. Nico lightly tugs at the other’s hair, making him bear his neck for Nico. He kisses it first, gently, hardly a touch at all, before he sucks at the skin until he is sure it will leave a mark.

That is the only weakness he’ll allow himself, the only mark he will leave.

Nico feels a familiar pressure building in his gut. His legs tingle, shivers run down his back as he finds the prince’s lips again. Not long now.

A moan that is much closer to a sob than anything tears from the prince’s chest. Nico slows, but strokes him through his climax. Seed spills over Nico’s hand - he knows it’ll leave them uncomfortably sticky but can’t bring himself to care.

Against Nico’s expectations, the prince doesn’t sag though. His forehead rests against Nico, his breathing comes heavy, but while Nico lets off him, the prince keeps stroking Nico in return, swiping his thumb over the head, twisting his hand just slightly.  
It doesn’t take long for Nico’s orgasm to follow, given a treatment like this.

Nico’s hips buck, the breath is sucked out of his lungs. He buries his face in the prince’s neck and gasps for air – he cannot remember feeling pleasure this intense anymore.

Nico is sweaty and sticky, after. Still somewhat breathless, partially because of the prince’s weight resting on his chest. It will be uncomfortable in the morning, but maybe…maybe he can persuade the prince to stay for a bath in Nico’s chambers before leaving to go back home.

Eventually, the prince slides off Nico, if not by a lot. He stays mostly pressed against Nico’s side, head on Nico’s shoulder, warmth radiating from him even though the room was going cold.

When Nico shifts to get up, a hand wraps around his arm.

“I would like you to stay.” The prince whispers. Nico hears the hurt, the vulnerability in his voice – a smile creeps onto his face.

“I’m not leaving.” He promises quietly. His arm is freed, allowing Nico to climb off the bed.  

He can feel the prince’s eyes on him as he walks over to the fire, adding some wood from a pile beside the fireplace. Smoke billows for a second, then it is sucked out through the furnace. Nico stays watching the flames for half a second, then walks over to the vanity in the corner. A small basin with water, a single washcloth – it would have to do until they could clean themselves off properly in the morning.

When Nico turns back – cloth in hand - the prince has sat up. Insecurity seems to radiate off him as he is watching Nico with wide eyes. He strides back to the bed, offers the cloth to the prince, who does not look at Nico while he cleans himself off.

Nico pushes back the heavy blanket before joining the prince in the bed again. The washcloth is dropped to the floor, and Nico pushes back the warm covers with an expectant little smile.  Maybe, he should have ordered the servants to run them a bath now, rather than going to bed sweaty and slightly uncomfortable, but it will have to wait until the morning.

The prince must have finally caught up to Nico’s intention, seeing has his expression relaxes and he crawls under the blanket himself. When Nico holds out one arm, the prince comes easy, finding his place against Nico’s side like before.

He pulls the covers back over them both, chasing away the cold that always lurked in the castle walls at night.

 

A thin, dangerous line, but Nico could wait until the morning to regret having crossed it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The King is still asleep when Will stirs with the first light of the sun. He has always been an early riser, and this day is no different.

Will feels warm and safe pressed up against the man’s side, although they both are still naked under the cover and Will regrets not having washed up properly with the offered cloth the night before.  

...He still cannot believe he has done this.

It seems so out of character for him to sleep with a man he's met the same day - to sleep with a King in his lonely castle, on top of it. Will cannot bring himself to regret it, however. If he could make the choice again, Will knew it would not end any differently.

Never before has Will been this intimate with anyone. He thinks something should feel different, but nothing does. His head rests on the King's chest, Will can hear the King's heart beating dully where his ear is pressed against the skin. It's peaceful and Will hates that he won't be able to stay.   
His grandfather would surely use it as an excuse to invade this barren land, for his own bloodlust rather than Will’s benefit and rescue. Will has not seen the King’s people, does not know if there are any but the silent guards and servants of the castle – but he still will not put them at risk out of selfishness.

Slowly, he peels away from the man and slides out of bed.

The air in the room is cool - no one has come to stoke the fire overnight, surely to give them privacy.  
Will picks up his thin shirt from the floor, shakes and smoothes it out before he pulls it over his head. His breeches are at the foot of the bed, Will feels his cheeks hit up when he finds them and slides into them as well. It’s not much, but Will feels a little better covering up already.

By the door, the King’s long coat is crumples on the floor. Will bites his lip, hesitates for a moment.

_He shouldn’t._

A glance to the king sleeping peacefully in the bed, and Will reaches for the coat. He pulls it pull over his own shoulders, holding it closed at the front. It's much warmer than his own jacket, but a little too long on him. He doubts he’d be able to get away with taking it anyway. For now though… it will be much warmer than his own.

The only light in the room comes from two large windows on either side of the fireplace. He has not paid them much attention the night before, but Will walks over to one of them now, slowly and quietly - he has no desire to wake the King from what looks like peaceful sleep.

Will isn’t sure what he has expected. The same barren landscape he had come through on his way to the caste, perhaps, the same leafless trees and grounds long frozen over.  

Instead, the windows look over the most beautiful garden Will has ever laid eyes on.

Seemingly stretching around the entire back of the castle, enclosed in by high stone walls, green, healthy trees, blooming flowers, fresh grass and bushes grow in all colours and variations. There are trees heavy with fruit, many of which Will does not recognise, and the bushes’ branches hang heavy full of berries. Will believes he can see a few bees buzzing around the flowers, for a moment he thinks he even sees a rabbit darting in the underbrush.

It's stunning, a sight completely out of place in this ghostly realm. Will is not sure if this is a trick, an illusion, or reality. The garden seems entirely impossible.

Will doesn't think when he pushes away from the window and makes his way to the door. He needs to see more, needs to feel and smell this garden to be sure it is real.

Will slips out of the door silently, still only dressed in undergarments and the King’s coat, and makes his way down the stairs barefooted. The floor is cold under his feet, but Will doesn’t go back for socks or shoes.

It doesn't take him long to find one of the King’s strange guards. They look at him with empty eyes and no expression, Will suppresses a shiver. They seem much less friendly than they had the day before, when they found him lost in the forests.

“Can you take me to the gardens?” Will asks without preamble.

The guard regards him with a strange look for a moment, some shift in its expression Will doesn’t know what to make of, and then nods slowly and turns around, presumably to lead the way.

There are too many winding corridors, and Will regrets not having properly dressed himself as he follows the guard deeper into the castle. Despite the warmth of the coat, a chill travels up his legs from his bare soles on the stone tiles.

Will loses track of time, and of the way they’ve come. If he’d change his mind now, he wouldn’t be able to find his way back to the room he had slept in.

The guard stops in front of a pair of heavy looking wooden doors. They step aside and make way for Will, head bowed a little. They haven't spoken a word, but Will guesses this must be it.

Gingerly he presses his palm against one of the doors.  It gives way much easier than its look made Will expect. A thrill runs up his spine, he is excited to see the gardens in all their beauty up close.

Will pushes the door open further and further. A rush of warmth comes from the outside, like a sweet summer’s breeze. This should not be possible.

Will’s eyes widen and a small gasp slips from his lips as his eyes roam over the beauty of the garden once more.

He takes a first step onto the lush grass, now glad he has not bothered with shoes as he feels the softness under his feet. The door closes behind him as he takes another step forward and breathes in deeply. The air is smells sweet and inviting just like ripe fruit. It reminds Will of his mother, in a way.

It is warmer here than it had been in the castle, which should be strange, but somehow strikes Will as natural. The garden itself doesn’t look cultivated and well kept, but rather like it is left to its own devices except for the occasional help in the right direction.

Will follows the grassy path through fields of flowers and bushes. He regards vegetables growing by the side of the path, takes his time to smell the flowers, and runs his fingers over the bark of any tree he can reach without leaving the grass.

The path ends at the foot of a large tree.

It is heavy with dark red fruit the size of Will’s fists that in themselves look a little like flowers. Will is too awed to move closer for a long moment, but the tree seems to be beckoning him closer.

Listening to his instincts, Will approaches the trunk. It would be easy to pick one of its strange fruit, they are within his reach all around, but instead, Will takes a seat by the trunk - his back against the tree - and closes his eyes.

Never before in his life has he felt this peaceful and at home.

 

 

 

When Nico wakes up alone, he allows himself one single moment to hate himself a little. It had been naive to believe the prince would stay, to believe this was more than simply a means to an end, that what he’d felt wasn’t just attraction but a connection.

Then, worry settles in instead.

If he has left without Nico, without the guard, he will not be able to find his way out of the woods. They are a treacherous place, and the prince does not know how to navigate his way through. He does not know what lurks in the shadows.

Nico sits up swiftly, ignoring his skin still dirty from the night before.

A look around the room and his rapidly beating heart settles a little again: The prince’s jacket and trousers are still on the floor - wherever he has gone, it can’t be far.

Nico does not bother to cover himself as he slides out of the bed. He is used to the cold for the most part, and there is no one around to cover himself for out of modesty. He strides through the room to the window - his heart stops.

The prince sits in the middle of the garden. The pomegranate tree covers most of him, although the gold of his hair shines through where it comes in contact with the light. Nico’s fists clench on the windowsill.

How could he have been this stupid? He should have warned the prince, should have had guards at the doors. Maybe it is already too late…

In a hurry, Nico grabs the shirt he has worn the night before, then his trousers. His coat is nowhere to be seen, so he just slides his boots over his feet and runs a hand through his hair before he is out the door and running down the stairs.

It had been foolish to let the prince’s fate rest in his own hands. Nico should have known better than this, should have had the doors to the garden locked if he didn’t tell the man, should have…

He passes a guard who shrinks back when Nico’s gaze falls on them. Undoubtedly, it must have been one of them who’d shown the prince to the gardens - and they know their King does not approve.

It does not take Nico nearly as long as Will to find his way through the winding corridors and to the big wooden doors that separate the castle from Nico’s gardens. He pushes them open without hesiation and heads straight for the pomegranate tree.

 _Why_ did it have to be the pomegranate tree? Of all the forbidden fruit that grow and bloom here, its magic and appeal is the strongest. Nico knows it will try to lure the prince in, to trap him in this one oasis of an otherwise barren land.

When Nico strides into the clearing, the prince looks up. His face betrays no guilt or shame, just a small, genuine smile as his eyes meet the King’s. He looks happy, sitting at the trunk of the tree, like he belongs there.

A breeze rustles the tree’s leaves, carrying its sweet scent through the clearing. Despite the warmth it carries, Nico thinks he can feel the blood freeze in his veins.

A single red pomegranate falls from the tree and lands, to no surprise, in the prince’s lap. The young man’s eyes widen as he cups the fruit in his hands, he looks at it with a fond surprise.

“Don’t!” Nico says and surges forward. His voice comes out much harsher than he intended it to be. The prince flinches, looks up at Nico with a somewhat wounded expression. The fruit is cradled in his hands, hidden against his chest, like he is trying to protect it from Nico.

“This garden carries a curse.” He adds, gentler now. The prince lowers the fruit back to his lap. “The fruit won’t rot, the leaves won’t fall. A single seed is enough to sustain a man for weeks. All the flowers and bushes and trees here bloom throughout the year…” Nico trails off and his gaze falls to the floor.

“But if you let yourself get tempted into consuming anything it offers, it will make you pay a prize not worth paying.”

He does not explain further, does not say that once the prince tastes the forbidden sweetness, it will be the last thing he may eat. That he will be here, trapped like Nico himself, another lonely soul to rule over a kingdom of ghosts.

“It doesn’t rot?” The prince asks, his voice soft and unsure. The question puzzles Nico, but he nods nonetheless. Out of all the things, why was this the one the prince picked out?

“May I take it with me, then? To remind me of you?” The prince says then. He looks even shyer than before and a pretty pink blush tints his cheeks. “I promise I will not get tempted.”

 

Nico does not find it in himself to say no.

  


 

In the light of day, intimacy feels different.

The King hadn’t expected it from him, had simply told him that he’d let the servants run a bath so Will could clean and warm up before the King would take him to the border. Will doesn’t think he would have come along either, hadn’t Will grabbed the King’s hand in his and asked if he wanted to join.

It is not sexual this time as much as it is sensual.

Will is sitting in the tub with the hot water up to his collarbones, his back resting against the King’s chest and the King’s legs on either side of his. His head is rolled back, eyes half closed as it rests against the King’s shoulder.

They are not speaking, but the silence is comfortable. The King’s fingers are tracing soothing repetitive circles on Will’s skin. When Will tilts his head back, the King meets his eyes. Will brings a hand up to the King’s cheek and the angle is awkward, but the kiss still sends sparks down his spine.

Part of him wishes he could stay in this moment forever.

 

It is midday when they leave the castle.

Nico has given the prince his coat. He pretended it was for warmth, it gets colder here than it does in the prince’s homeland, but truthfully the sight of the young man wearing it had just been a little too much for Nico.

The pomegranate is hidden in the saddle bag, hanging by the prince’s thighs. Nico knows he will regret this gift.

 

They don’t speak for most of the ride, but this time it is a tense silence rather than a comfortable one that lays like a heavy blanket over them. Will wants to speak out, but the King isn’t looking at him. His eyes are scanning the trees and the winding, thin path ahead without every straying in Will’s direction.

It won’t be long till they reach the border now, Will can feel the air around grow warmer.

He does not want to go back home.

 

  


Nico should have expected this.

He has felt less comfortable the further south they got, the closer they got to the border. It has been long years since he’s last been this far away from his castle, but he does not think that this is why he feels so on edge.

As they break through the edge of the woods, Nico realises what has worried him. All around the edge of the forest are men dressed in the guard’s uniform of the prince’s house. They crossed into his realm in large numbers, without announcement or permission. If Nico was a different monarch, he might have taken it as offence enough to start a war over this.

The prince’s grandfather does not care. He would have sent his army to the heart of Nico’s kingdom if he thought it necessary.

Of course, _of course_. He should have known.

Nico has not taken any of his guards – in hindsight it’s reckless and stupid – and he wonders whether it is too early to call his sword to him. Nico is not sure if that is a sight he wants the prince to experience… unless he wants the prince to see the monster his father and grandfather warned him about.

A shout echoes - one of the guardsmen must have spotted them both. Nico squares his shoulders, sits up straighter on his black stallion. There is a reason these guards only skirted the edge of the woods; they are afraid of what is rumoured to lie within and beyond.

They expect the _Ghost King_ , so he will give it to them.

He can hear the clarions signals, first loud and close, then repeated quieter in the distance. They are sending the message that the Prince has been found.

“Prince William!” One of the guards calls, hurrying over to the two horses.

He halts out of reach, bows hurriedly before addressing the prince again. Nico doesn’t miss that one hand stays on the handle of his sword.   
“The king has sent men to every corner of the country looking for you.” And evidently beyond his own borders, Nico thinks sourly. “We believed you were kidnapped. Has this… has…”

Nico knows what the guard wants to ask, but his eyes only dart nervously in Nico’s direction. He looks down on him, cold and regal. If anything, Nico knows how to make a threatening impression.

“I haven’t been kidnapped. I got lost.” The prince states simply. His discomfort rings clear in his voice. Nico suspects he’d rather be anywhere but here – Nico couldn’t agree more.

“I have escorted the prince back to safety. Do not insult me by claiming he has come to harm under my care.” Nico’s voice is cold. This is the heartless King they believe him to be.

He turns his horse around then, although the thought of abandoning the Prince where he clearly doesn’t wish to be sends a sharp pain through his chest. His features soften as he turns his gaze toward the young man, who looks back at Nico with a sad and vulnerable expression.

“If you ever wish to return… the tree’s gift will help you.” Nico says quietly. The guard strains to hear, but Nico ignores him. “You must be on this side, on _my_ side of the border – and it comes with a price you may not be willing to pay.”

He does not say more than that. The prince is still looking at him as if he is pleading. Nico is about to reign in his horse and flee back into his forest where he feels safe and protected when new fanfares answer the first signals.

A cold shudder runs down Nico’s spine, this cannot be good. He looks over his shoulder to see two men on large white horses, the kind you breed for war, galloping down a hill toward them.

Nico’s knows immediately who is coming for them.

_No._

 

Will’s stomach drops when he recognises his father, and his grandfather – the King – galloping toward them. They must have been near – they must have _known_ where Will had run off to. He doesn’t believe for a second that they’d assumed he’d been kidnapped, though. They must have seen his horse missing from the stables, they must have followed his tracks all the way to the border of the forest.

Against Will’s expectation, the _Ghost King_ does not spur his horse at the sight of them. His expression darkens considerably and Will can see his fingers tighten on the reigns off his horse. The King turns his horse back around again and much to Will’s surprise, positions himself slightly between Will and his approaching family.

“Will you look at that.” Will’s grandfather’s voice boomed. They’d reached the edge of the forest and slowed their horses to a stop not far from them. “Nico di Angelo has found a new pet.”

Will could see the tension in the King’s shoulders, wound up too tight, ready to snap.

“I believe it is _King_ di Angelo for you.” He says coldly. “And you and your men have no business crossing over my borders.”

Will can tell his grandfather doesn’t like this at all. His gaze is judgemental, moves from the King to Will – he narrows his eyes. Will can feel his cheeks heat up, knowing he is in the King’s coat still, fearing his grandfather can see what has happened between them.

“Hadn’t I been forced to, I wouldn’t have set foot into your cursed land. But it appears you have something of mine.”

Will shudders. He does not like being considered property, no matter by whom.

“Something of yours?” The King says through gritted teeth. He seems to dislike the idea as much as Will. “If you are speaking of the horse, I’ll happily send it back with your guards.”

Will watches as his father’s hands settles on the hilt of his sword. He hasn’t spoken a single word yet, but Will doesn’t like the look on his father nonetheless. If his mother could see them now, she’d be appalled.

“My grandson.”

Cold fills Will from the inside out. He needs to do something.

“I did not realise you kept princes as slaves in your country.” The King says. He’s challenging Will’s grandfather. His own hand sits on a hilt at his belt that does not seem to be connected to any sword at all. “Do you consider his father property as well?”

It’s silent for a long moment and Will is sure there will be a fight. He is unarmed, but even so, he is unsure which side he should be on. In his lap, he cradles the red fruit of the tree.

“William.” His father’s voice holds no love in it. “Come here.”

Will’s fingers are shaking where he is holding the fruit. Will it only help him come back, or will it help him stay as well?

“William.” His father says again. It does not sound like an order, but like a threat.

Will breaks the fruit open. Little seeds fall out into his palm and Will swallows thickly. A price he may not be willing to pay or a life in a cage.

“I will not ask a third time.” His father warns.

Will looks up and meets his father’s eyes. He brings his palm to his lips, drawing all three men’s attention to the fruit he is holding with the other.

“Don’t!” The _Ghost King_ calls, but it’s too late. Will throws the seeds into his mouth.


End file.
